


Cloak and Dagger

by SadakoTetsuwan



Series: McHanzo Week 2016 [4]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Arms deal, Blackwatch Hanzo, Day 4, Deadlock McCree, Gen, Haha I write so many AUs, Hanzo doesn't know the hanky code because it's like 100 years old at this point lol, M/M, McHanzo Week, McHanzo Week 2016, Role Reversal, backroom dealing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-22
Updated: 2017-08-26
Packaged: 2018-09-11 01:13:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8947339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SadakoTetsuwan/pseuds/SadakoTetsuwan
Summary: To save his brother's life after the clan decided to dispose of him, Hanzo has agreed to join Overwatch's clandestine corps, Blackwatch. Now acting as a covert agent within his own criminal empire, Hanzo has been asked to make contact with the  notorious motorcycle gang, the Deadlock Rebels, to secure a large arms deal for the Clan--and to relay information on both organizations to Overwatch.





	1. Chapter 1

“I am sure my family will want to purchase some of this equipment,” Hanzo mused, running a hand along an M4, laid out on top of a crate full of its companions. Old, yes, but very reliable, and highly modifiable, as the other guns atop the crate demonstrated.

“Reckon they will,” McCree replied, leaning back against a heavy crate. “It ain’t every day you get access to Grade-A US Military hardware. And with the Triads tryin’ t’ cut in on y’all’s turf, I imagine you’ll be wantin’ all the firepower you can get.”

“You are very well-informed.”

“Hafta be, in my line o’ work,” he mused, pushing off from the box in a smooth, serpentine arc. “...I’m more well-informed than yer bosses, too.”

Hanzo’s blood ran cold—not that you could tell from looking at him. He simply raised a haughty brow and crossed his arms. “I beg your pardon?” Perhaps McCree didn't mean what he thought he meant...

“Maybe nobody else made you yet, but then again, ain’t nobody else got an eye like mine,” McCree smirked, stepping closer. “Y’ain’t really lookin’ t’ buy, yer lookin’ t’ bust, ain’tcha?”

Hanzo took a smooth step back, glaring at the man in front of him and trying to assess his odds. McCree had an enormous pistol at his side, and his confident cowboy swagger told Hanzo he was quick on the draw--the thoroughly unattractive black ‘1%’ lozenge tattooed on McCree’s shoulder told him he wasn’t afraid to use it, either. The fact that he was only 21 and, according to his cut, already Sergeant-at-Arms in a major outlaw biker gang told him he wasn’t just good, he was a prodigy. The scars on his arms interrupting his various other tattoos--chains, snakes, cobwebs, standard American criminal fare--suggested plenty of blades had gone into him in a relatively short period of time, however.

‘But he’s still alive--he might not be a knife fighter, but he survives. And there are no bullet wound scars...’

“I would be fully justified in killing you for such disrespect,” Hanzo scoffed. McCree didn’t strike him as a reasonable man, per se, but certainly one who could recognize and negotiate a threat when he heard one. McCree scoffed, casually drawing his cannon of a pistol and pressing the cool oiled metal to Hanzo’s forehead, upping the ante with the air of someone ordering from a takeout menu.

“An’ you think I couldn’t put a bullet in yer brainpan and tell someone like Walker that y’all were undercover?” McCree scoffed, spitting as if to remove the name from his mouth.

‘ _Watch yourself, Hanzo, he’s on to you,_ ’ a voice whispered in his ear, as if he needed to be told the biker holding a gun to his head was suspicious of him.

Still, there was clearly tension among the ranks in Deadlock. Good. He could work with that.

“You’re a clever man, McCree-san,” Hanzo began, “You know as well as I do that a weak president like Walker wouldn’t be able to handle the backlash after my murder.”

“Don’t encourage me,” he smirked, cocking his revolver. “Might go n’ act on one o’ them fool ideas you got rattlin’ ‘round up there--get myself a promotion.” Hanzo’s face remained stony as ever--McCree was impressed.

“Better the puppet _not_ have his strings cut, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Y’ talkin ‘bout Walker, or you, _Overwatch_?” McCree accused again, his gaze narrowing. He knew Hanzo was being listened in on by his bosses--Yakuza or otherwise. It was a safe wager either way--no sweat off his sack if he was wrong and the clan punished him merely for the accusation of working for the enemy. Still, it was a definitely a toss-up between those two; ATF was still recovering from their attempted bust on the Mongrels a few weeks before. Well-informed, indeed.

“I am no puppet,” Hanzo growled back, his expression changing for the first time since their conversation began. His gaze narrowed, the air almost growing cold as his tone grew harsher.

“Well if y’ain’t got strings, maybe you n’ me could make some sort of...arrangement,” McCree purred, smirking as he trailed the barrel of the revolver down Hanzo’s cheek in a cruel imitation of a lover’s touch. The touch lasted for only a moment, however, and Hanzo was grateful--any longer, and he might have had another problem to deal with. Regardless, he reached up and pulled the commlink from his ear with a smirk. No strings. Both Commander Reyes and Chichi-ue trusted him to handle situations like this, after all.

“I am listening.”

“Let’s say yer an agent. Double agent. Whatever, ain’t make no difference on my end which team yer really playin’ for,” McCree began,  pulling an orange bandana from his back pocket and casually polishing his gun with a wink, “Y’ still gotta make the buy, and y’ still gotta get the goods back t’ yer family in Japan or yer cover’s blown. Not that it might couldn’t be already,” he smirked, “But let's say y’all don’t speak such good English back in Hanamura, an’ they couldn't tell what we was talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Omae no nihongo mo warui deshou.”

“Bless you. Anyhow, one way or another, yer gonna be needin’ these guns, and yer gonna have the cash t’ get ‘em. What say you sweeten the pot fer me a bit--I don’t tell my boss ‘bout yer boss, an’ you cut me in on a bit o’ that cash. Or you slip me intel on Overwatch raids ‘round ‘bout here,” he added, winking again.

“Why should I tell you and not Walker? You’re just the Sergeant,” Hanzo scoffed, crossing his arms.

“‘Cause I won’t tell nobody else,” McCree grinned. “This here’s a deal with _me_ an’ _you_ , not Deadlock and the Fukuryuu-kai or Overwatch or nothin’. You give me somethin’, I make sure yer cover ain’t blown. Hell, I’ll vouch for you at church. What say, pardner?” he asked, the revolver still in his hand. Hanzo scoffed.

“I imagine you think you’re quite clever, don’t you?” he asked, watching him fearlessly. “How can I trust a man who is only looking out for himself?”

“Better t’ slip out ‘fore the fightin’ starts than go back t’ jail,” McCree replied, holstering his gun again. “Ain’t got juvie t’ fall back on no more, an they _really_ like my kind ‘round the pen, don’t they?” he smirked, waving his handkerchief playfully under Hanzo’s nose and tucking it into his back pocket again. The symbol’s meaning was lost on the Japanese man. “Still...I reckon you can trust me on jes’ this one thing, at least.”

“Why?”

“ _Because_ I’m out fer myself,” McCree replied. “Ain’t no sense in me cockin’ up my own deal now, is there?” Hanzo chuckled, letting his gaze drift away from the slender man in front of him as he turned it over and over in his head, until he spoke again. “Clock’s tickin’ here, amigo.”

“I will give you a 3% tip,” Hanzo offered.

“Three? Don’t insult me, or I’ll spill the beans right now,” McCree glared.

“Overwatch intelligence, and a 3% tip.”

“Intel and 5%.”

“That’s no good,” Hanzo frowned; his father would have his hide for being so direct in negotiating, but Americans needed directness, after all. “I need something in return for 5%. That is quite a lot of yen, after all...” McCree took his hat off and ran a hand through his messy brown hair before dropping it back on his head, adjusting it casually.

“A’ight, I’ll throw in my number.”

“You think _that_ is worth 2%?” Hanzo laughed, though he quickly stopped when McCree didn’t join him in mirth or reply with offense--he suddenly looked rather uncomfortable standing there.

“Y’ need muscle t’ move yer goods, y’ need an extra gun when y’all are Stateside,” he began, no longer looking at Hanzo--not after getting shot down quite that spectacularly, “...Y’ need someone t’ keep the bed warm,” he ventured--apparently, Japanese men needed directness to get the message. Hanzo’s cheeks warmed slightly at the suggestion, though his expression didn’t change. McCree’s eyes, however, were unusually sharp, and he could see the slight touch of pink creeping into the agent’s cheeks.

_Victory_.

“Intel and a 5% tip, in exchange for keeping my secret and covering my true allegiance...and your phone number,” Hanzo said, forcing a bit of disinterest into his voice.

“Good doin’ business with ya, Overwatch,” McCree winked, grabbing a fat marker from atop one of the crates and taking Hanzo’s arm, scrawling his number in inch-high digits, earning a disgusted scoff from Hanzo. “Y’ can call me there to arrange where to drop my ‘tip’,” he added, tossing the marker back on top of the crate. “Fer now, let’s go ‘head an’ let Walker know the deal is on,” McCree smirked, leading Hanzo out of the warehouse.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was commissioned by [HardlyQuinn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HardlyQuinn/pseuds/HardlyQuinn) back in like...I don't even want to say when lol but I finished it in time for her birthday, and she's been the sole owner of this chapter for about a month now.

Hanzo sighed as he encoded and encrypted his report for Commander Reyes. He was careful to avoid too much mention or specific details regarding the deal he had cut with the Sergeant-at-Arms; after all, his contact back at HQ had been listening to him haggle, and the _last_ thing he wanted was any more record than was necessary that he had a series of fat numbers scrawled across his forearm.

‘A contact has been established within the ranks of the Deadlock Rebels.’ That would be sufficient—and if Reyes wanted to hear a few more details, he could listen to the obnoxious biker on the recording.

He sent in his report and extracted the SIM card from his phone, casually tossing it into the microwave and setting it for ‘popcorn’. He had plenty more SIM cards to last him until the end of this mission, after all. In fact, he popped one in right away and reclined on the bed, frowning as he punched in the number scrawled on his arm.

_‘Are you up?’_

He cringed as he sent the text, sighing.

_‘new number who dis’_

Hanzo frowned at the message. Surely, Jesse hadn’t given him the wrong number…

_‘Jesse?’_

_‘shimada?’_

_‘Of course.’_

_‘omw’_

Hanzo frowned at the nonsense letters McCree sent him, considering what they could mean. A typo? What in the world could he have meant to type? Did he mean ‘orz’? That didn’t make any sense, either…

He tossed the phone onto the pillow and stood, casually beginning to sweep the room for bugs. He had to install a few of his own, of course, and surely all the best spots must already be occupied. After finding only two, and in rather uncreative places, however, he began to question Deadlock’s competence.

Hanzo had just installed an infrared sensor when a knock came at the door.

“Who is it?” he called, reaching for the knife stowed at the small of his back.

“Room service,” a familiar voice replied. Suddenly, it clicked—‘on my way’. Hanzo felt like an idiot. He pulled the door open as far as the chain would allow, peering out into the hallway of the seedy Deadlock Gorge Inn. McCree stood there in all his greasy, leather-covered glory, a six-pack tucked under one arm and a plastic bag hanging from his wrist.

“Howdy,” McCree winked, tipping his hat. Hanzo huffed and shut the door, fiddling with the locks and chains for a moment before opening the door wide.

“Come in,” he said, doing his best to sound like a gracious host. The room might have been terrible, but the least he could do was entertain the biker for a few minutes, arrange the drop, offer up some old information—something safe, something that would fulfill his obligation to provide intel on Overwatch’s work in the region…

“Brought ya some cold ones, t’ get the party started,” McCree remarked, strolling in and swinging open the door on the mini-fridge. He crouched down and casually loaded up the fridge, his gaze flicking around and searching for bugs as casually as he could. There was no way Overwatch wouldn’t have bugs up the ass around here. Still, Hanzo must have been pretty good at hiding them; not a thing in the room looked disturbed.

“That’s really not necessary,” Hanzo sighed, accepting a bottle and twisting the cap off without struggle or hesitation. McCree’s brow rose in approval, cracking the lid off his own bottle and plopping down on the bed.

“Can’t hurt t’ loosen up a bit, now,” he smirked.

Hanzo took a sip and immediately pulled back, his face screwed up in disgust at the lukewarm liquid. “Do you not have refrigerators in this godforsaken place?”

“Y’ might’ve noticed, we’re in the desert, sweetheart,” McCree winked, apparently not minding the warm beer.

“That is not—” Hanzo began, before sighing. “Nevermind. What’s all that, there?” he asked, gesturing to the bag.

“Oh, y’know, jes’ a few things here an’ there, tryin’ t’ get ya settled in,” McCree remarked, peeking into the bag.

“I’m not going to be here for long,” Hanzo replied, weighing his options before dumping a bit of ice into one of the plastic cups from the bathroom and pouring his beer over it. Distasteful, he knew, but there was nothing for it.

“Well, figured y’ might want at least somethin’ to nibble on,” McCree said, dumping the bag out. A package of beef jerky, a few cheap cigars, jelly beans, a small bottle of lube; McCree was completely shameless.

“And what, precisely,” Hanzo began, his speech halting as he looked at the assorted items, “…What, precisely, do you think I am going to ‘nibble on’?”

“Well, I heard jerky’s expensive ‘round yer parts…” McCree said, faltering slightly. Damn, he had no idea how to romance a Japanese Yakuza boss. Not that he was supposed to be romancing him, he was just supposed to seal the deal and get his cut off the top. He just hoped that his cut off the top might include something extra on the side.

“Yes, but…why would you bring beef jerky and…lubricant? Do those go together, in your mind?” he asked, wincing slightly at his own question. For one, Commander Reyes would likely be reviewing the audio from his bugs…did he really need another reason to want to die at that very moment?

“Ain’t nothin’ if not optimistic,” McCree laughed nervously, swiping the little bottle up and sliding it in his pocket. Well, it was worth a shot.

“I worry about what is going on under that hat, cowboy,” Hanzo sighed.

“Aww, shoot darlin’,” McCree grinned, “Glad someone’s worryin’.”

Hanzo gave pause at McCree’s remark, his expression softening for a moment. It must be a lonely life for American outlaws…he at least had his family, as broken as they were. But Blackwatch intelligence on the officers in Deadlock showed that most had no surviving family, the last remnants following the destruction of much of the American Southwest, hardened by the Omnic Crisis and the subsequent desolation.

Yes…no matter how innocent or ridiculous he might look lying on the bed with a warm beer in one hand and an as-yet unlit cigar in the other, he was a hardened criminal. He couldn’t forget that.

“No smoking,” Hanzo said, reaching out and snagging the cigar from his hand.

“Wha—? C’mon, darlin’, I ain’t even smokin’ it yet,” McCree whined.

“My father smoked and it was one of the only things about him that I hated,” Hanzo said. “All of his heirlooms smell like ash.”

“Really? That’s the only think ya hated ‘bout him?”

“My father was a brutal oyabun—but a generous and caring father. He did everything he could to make sure I could follow in his footsteps. Come to think of it, I suppose most people don’t bond with their sons by teaching them the best way to break kneecaps,” Hanzo mused.

“Well, y’ never know. I mean, my momma taught me how t’ shoot,” McCree replied.

“Was your mother also an outlaw?” Hanzo asked, raising a brow and smirking.

“Naw, jes’ a real deadeye,” he winked, pointing a finger gun at Hanzo. He allowed a moment of silence to pass, watching Hanzo sip at his ice-filled plastic cup before speaking again. “Now…y’ called me out here fer a reason, dincha?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Hanzo replied, pointing to his ear and frowning. What sort of idiot was this cowboy, to discuss their deal on the side _knowing_ the room was bugged?

“C’mon, _Mr. Shimada_ , I saw the way you were lookin’ at me,” he winked, gesturing to the old landline phone—the most obviously bugged item in the room. He was no fool.

“Tch. What use would I possibly have for a skinny little Yankee like you?”

“You’d better watch yer mouth, with that ‘Yankee’ stuff,” McCree replied, a real edge entering his voice. Hanzo raised a brow, the implicit threat terribly amusing.

“What, exactly, would you do to _your buyer_ if I did not?” Hanzo asked.

“There are other buyers out there, y’know.”

“But none that are me.” Hanzo was ever so pleased as he watched the expressions on McCree’s face.

“Yer gettin’ t’ be more trouble than yer worth,” McCree huffed, disliking the way the tables had turned.

“Who gave their phone number to whom?” Hanzo asked, crossing his legs and smirking.

“Damn, ya got me there,” McCree replied, trying his best to get back on his game. “So y’ know what _I’m_ here for,” he continued, teasing at Hanzo’s foot with his boot. “And I’ve got an inklin’ what _you_ want—”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Hanzo smirked, kicking his foot out a bit. “After all, I don’t even have my guns yet. Why should you get the milk for free?”

“Well fine,” McCree pouted, “What _do_ I get, then?”

 

 

Reyes frowned as a warning tone began to sound, a light flashing on the operations map. He glanced at the information Hanzo had relayed back, before keying up his radio. “Hanzo, this is Reyes. Your infrared sensors are going off in your motel room. Deadlock is probably giving your place a shakedown—you better keep clear for an hour or two, and you’d better hope you didn’t leave anything for them to find.”

Silence.

“…Hanzo, do you copy?”

He pulled up the audio feeds on the bugs in the room, and tapped into the one that was clearly the most active. Reyes’s eyes widened at the sounds that met him before his elbows hit the desk, his head in his hands.

_‘Mmm, Hanzo, baby…’_

_‘Enough with—aah…enough with the pillow talk.’_

_‘Ooh, you want me t’ put my mouth to better use?’_

_‘ Yes, you obnoxious—! …Haah, that’s _much _better…’_

Reyes slowly dragged the headphones from his ears and pinched the bridge of his nose. A heavy sigh left him as he began to list all of the audio as ‘Restricted – Blackwatch’.

Hanzo was _never_ going to live this down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to come poke and prod at me on tumblr at [SadakoTetsuwan](https://sadakotetsuwan.tumblr.com/) (warning: NSFW) <3


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